


The Eyes Have It

by triggerswaggiehavoc



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Warlocks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 11:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerswaggiehavoc/pseuds/triggerswaggiehavoc
Summary: It's dangerous to make someone fall in love with you just by looking into your eyes. Jihoon has heard a lot about it.





	The Eyes Have It

When Jihoon hears someone slide into the seat beside him at the bar, he doesn’t look. You never know who could show up to a place like this, who might want to pick a random fight. He prefers to keep his nose out of anything it might get into. For now, he takes another sip of his drink, keeps watch over the bartender roving back and forth behind the counter.

“Evening,” a voice beside him says. Jihoon recognizes it, though he’s sure he’s never spoken with this guy before. It’s a soft voice, disarming in the ways that make him most certain he needs to keep his guard up. After a few moments of Jihoon’s silence, there’s a shift on the newly-occupied stool, and an elbow comes into view resting on the bar top. “Doing alright?”

“I’m not interested,” Jihoon says without taking a glance to his right, though his neck is aching to turn for a peek. It’s too risky.

“Not interested?” the voice asks.

“In whatever it is you want.” Jihoon watches the ice in his glass melt, a crushed mint leaf slinking down with it. “I won’t play along, so you can go bother somebody else.”

A sliver of laughter. How irritating. “What makes you so sure I want something?”

Jihoon shrugs. “Just call it a hunch.” He signals to the bartender for his tab. “I trust my hunches.” A drop of condensation slides down the side of his glass, pools on the wood.

“Do you always avoid eye contact with people when you first meet them?”

Now Jihoon barks out a hard laugh. “I do when I know better than to look them in the eyes.”

“Is that right?”

“I don’t know if you think you’re flying under the radar,” Jihoon says, sneaking a glance at the reflection in his glass, “but I’m very familiar with you.” The reflection shows a tiny grin, warped by the curve of the glass. “Wen Junhui.”

“So you do know me,” Junhui says, chuckle teasing its way into his words. “And so I guess you’d know—”

“What you’re up to,” Jihoon supplies. “How you operate. I know it all.” The barman sets a bill down on the counter in front of him, and Jihoon matches it with a fistful of cash, then slides off his stool. “So I know a little better than to meet your eyes. Have a good night.”

He’s pushing his way out the doors when Junhui catches back up to him, steps quick on the pavement outside. Just by the way the streetlights are hitting them, he can tell Junhui is significantly taller, and it pisses him off. Seems like all the no-good miscreants are always getting it easy. Jihoon’s heard he’s pretty handsome, too, but of course he must be. What’s one more stunning injustice, anyway?

“Don’t follow me,” Jihoon says, turning abruptly at the nearest street sign. He hears Junhui’s heels scrape as they pivot on the walkway.

“Hold on,” he says, matching strides back up with Jihoon in record time. A perk of having long legs, Jihoon figures. Oh boy. “I need your help with something.”

“I told you I’m not interested.”

“It’s not what you think.” Junhui’s voice echoes off the walls on either side of them, falls on the sheen of the empty street. Jihoon knew he should’ve gone home earlier. “I know who you are too,” he continues, “Lee Jihoon.”

For a second, Jihoon thinks about stopping right there, but if he stops, he knows he’ll have to look at Junhui, and he can’t afford to do that, so he keeps walking, slows just enough. “Why do you know me?” he asks.

“I’d like you to make a charm for me.”

Jihoon raises his eyebrows. Above them, the waning crescent of the moon hides behind a swath of gray. The stars scattered sparsely in the sky highlight the inky purple of it, so close to black yet distinctly different. “What kind of charm?”

“A simple one,” Junhui says. “Very simple.”

“If it’s so simple,” Jihoon says, “you can find someone else to do it.”

“But I heard you’re the best.”

Now Jihoon does stop. His eyes fix on a small puddle gathered beneath the gutter outlet of one of the buildings beside them. In it, he finds the mirror image of the moon and the cloud hiding it, the occasional star peeking at them from beyond. He also finds himself, and by extension Junhui, whose expression is hard to place in the shape of the water. Just as it looks like he’s about to smile, Jihoon kicks a small rock into the puddle and watches it ripple away.

“You’ll be paying double the usual rate.”

Soft laughter slips to his ears. “That’s fine.”

“Of course it is,” Jihoon says. Then he starts laughing, hard enough that it hurts his stomach. He bends at the waist, hands on his knees while it rolls through his body. Of course. He feels a tear slide down his cheek. “Of course it is.”

As he laughs, his eyes draw themselves back to that little puddle. It’s still again after the impact of the pebble he kicked in earlier, once more a perfect mirror of the sky and the moon and the pair of them standing there. Against his better judgement, he traces his way up to where he knows Junhui’s face fits into that picture and sees him almost too clearly, grinning a strange sort of way, like he’s looking directly at him. Jihoon moves to kick another piece of gravel over and dissolve him again, but the side of his shoe doesn’t manage to hit any. He’s left there, still laughing, with Junhui’s weird smile and the moon watching him in silence.

 

Ever since a few years back, Wen Junhui has been making a name for himself among certain circles. Even when he was still active on the other side of the country, Jihoon knew about him, through friends who unwittingly got tangled up in his business. He’s notable only for that peculiarly useless magic that’s part of who he is inherently, that he’s been making only the worst use of, that Jihoon’s heard so much about people falling victim to: If you look Junhui in the eyes long enough, you’ll fall in love with him.

Just to say it seems harmless, but Jihoon knows better, knows that kind of love isn’t the kind you ever want to let yourself sink into. An old friend of his who didn’t know better looked into Junhui’s eyes for just a moment too long, and he wasn’t the same after. They kind of lost touch for a few months, and when he came back to his senses, he could hardly tell Jihoon what it was like. He couldn’t control his thoughts, hardly his actions. It’s much more dangerous than just love, he said, and Jihoon’s been remembering. Frankly, he’d been hoping that secondhand knowledge would never come in handy, but he’s glad now at least that he has it. Not that it’s worth enough to shield him from it.

It’s a tricky thing, the kind of magic Junhui uses. It’s something like a curse he’s always wearing, like a part of the natural aura his body just gives off, a hex written into the color of his eyes. Jihoon’s not sure about where exactly it comes from. He’s also not sure how long classifies too long, whether eye contact through a reflection counts the same, and that makes it even harder to make sure he’s keeping himself out of harm’s reach. He regrets agreeing to make the charm as soon as he agrees to it.

“I’m the best, huh?” he wonders, sitting on the edge of his bed, lights off around him. A sliver of moonlight falls across the floorboards, let in by the broken slat in the blinds. He watches it melt away as a cloud creeps across the face of the moon. “I guess.”

He’s heard that said before, always either by friends aiming for a handout or as snide remarks in passing from the other charm crafters weaseling by his old shop. Part of the reason he closed up shop and started taking jobs on a personal basis was because of it. It’s been years since he advertised. He wonders how Junhui even knew where to find him. Was this the only reason he came to this area? Hardly worth it, Jihoon thinks. Even a halfhearted charm gets the job done. And he said it’s simple.

Jihoon shrugs off his coat and tosses it to the floor. The edge of one sleeve dips into the line of silver left by the moon, wrinkles in a way that makes it almost seem alive.

“If it’s so simple…” He sighs and massages his eyes with the heels of his palms. The mattress springs creak when he flops onto his back. “I should’ve said no.”

Junhui wouldn’t even say the charm when he asked for it. A red flag if Jihoon ever saw one. Thinking back, he wants to knock his own eyes out. He should have demanded which charm. He should have said he absolutely would not meet Junhui to discuss the details tomorrow, should’ve refused the whole affair outright.

Just one drink makes him stupid, he’s always been told. Maybe that’s true. Jihoon rolls onto his stomach and presses his face into his pillow and wishes it weren’t.

 

They meet at a very unassuming café of Jihoon’s choice, a long walk from home to ensure Junhui doesn’t find out where that is. All the counter seats are full but one, which leaves him with no choice but a table where they’ll be facing each other. The thought alone hardens the pit of his stomach, but he sits anyway, nurses a large black coffee while he waits on Junhui to show up, eyes trained dutifully on the floor.

He plans his questions as he maintains his watch on the spot of the floor where Junhui’s shoes are sure to appear once he arrives. The quicker he can get this over with, the better. Junhui will sit down, he’ll ask what kind of charm and when he wants it, and Junhui will tell him, and he’ll be strolling back down the sidewalk in an instant. All the better, because the smell in here is stifling, over-sweet from the cases of pastries on either side of the register. Jihoon holds his coffee close and breathes in the smell for an escape.

Before too long, the bell on the door rings, and he’s got a bad feeling about it right away. Maybe that’s part of Junhui’s magic, too, this offensive energy that permeates all the air in a room the second he’s stepped foot into it. Jihoon’s not even surprised when he sees a pair of shoes glide into the space where his eyes have been fixed for the past half hour.

“Good to see you,” Junhui says, sounding disarmingly genuine, but Jihoon won’t let himself be fooled into looking for a gentle grin on those lips that are far too close to his eyes. “I thought you might stand me up.”

Jihoon frowns. “You should’ve told me,” he says. “That would’ve been a great idea.”

Junhui chuckles. His ankles cross. “I would’ve found you again, anyway.” There’s the sound of a plate coming to rest on the low table between them. Against his better judgement, Jihoon glances up to see what’s on it. A cinnamon roll.

“You’d find me, huh?” he asks. Junhui’s hands are distracting in the edge of his field of vision. “How? You got someone tailing me?”

“I just have ways.”

“Bullshit,” Jihoon spits, knocking back another gulp of coffee. It burns his throat on the way down. “Tell me how you would know.”

“Same way I knew where to find you to begin with,” he says. Silence hangs on the air between them, and Jihoon shuts his eyes. Of course. Something to do with that specialty of his. He refocuses on a lower spot on the table.

“Right.”

“You think I’m disgusting,” Junhui says. It almost sounds like a question, just as much as it sounds like Junhui is answering it himself. He picks a piece off the cinnamon roll and draws it back. Jihoon is almost tricked into letting his eyes follow. “I guess that’s fair.”

“Get to the point,” Jihoon says. He goes for another sip of his coffee, but only a few drops remain in the mug. They hit his tongue one by one. “Just tell me what kind of charm you want.”

“A cancellation charm,” Junhui says. Jihoon’s eyebrows twitch.

“Why do you need that?”

“Does that matter?” His tone is sharp. In the last second, Jihoon stops himself from fixing him with a full glare, instead lowers his eyebrows and presses his mouth into a line. There’s a breathy sound, almost laughter. “You don’t have to… It’s just my eyes.” He waits, but Jihoon doesn’t respond. “You can look at my face. Just not my eyes.”

“Yeah right,” Jihoon spits. “The rest of your face is right next to your eyes. I’m not falling for it.”

Junhui exhales. “Fine.” He tears off another morsel of cinnamon roll and raises it to his lips. The idiot part of Jihoon’s brain is dying to steal a glance.

After Junhui finishes chewing the next bite, Jihoon expects him to say something, but he doesn’t. All around them, the café continues its noise: footsteps, porcelain clinks, bell chimes. Jihoon laces his fingers over his lap, sets his shoulders. This is taking too long. He’s starting to get a headache.

“When do you want me to have it done?”

“Whenever,” Junhui says. He follows immediately with, “As soon as possible.” Jihoon could smash his head through a window.

“Which is it?”

“Either. I don’t care.”

“Fine, then.” Jihoon pushes himself to his feet and nods his head. “I’ll get it done as soon as possible.” He passes by Junhui’s chair with a small nod, but just as he’s about to be out of reach, a hand grips his wrist.

“How long will it take?” Junhui asks. His voice sounds far away.

“I don’t know,” Jihoon says, trying to tug his wrist free. It doesn’t work. The feeling of Junhui’s fingers outlined against his skin is so obnoxious. “Maybe two weeks.”

“I’d like to check up every now and then,” Junhui says. “Until it’s done.” Not a question.

Jihoon shifts his gaze, trailing up until he can see the sharp outline of Junhui’s jaw. Above it, his mouth sits in a strange curve, somewhere between frowning and not. After a moment, it turns into a grin.

“You don’t trust me?” Jihoon says. “You said yourself I’m the best.”

“That’s not it.”

For another minute, Junhui hangs on to him, then he lets go. Jihoon turns his eyes away again, stays still a second longer.

“Fine,” he says. His body holds him hostage another moment, legs frozen in place. He exhales. “If you need to find my studio, I guess you have your ways.” Then he walks. Despite how noisy the café had been minutes ago, all he hears on his way out are his own footsteps.

 

Though he’s long since closed up the shop, Jihoon refuses to part with his studio. It’s small and ten years overdue for reorganizing, but he likes the air in there, likes the little windows and the vent in the roof. Besides, it’s a hassle to try to start working at home, in more ways than he cares to deal with. He doesn’t always feel like dealing with the hike, but he does it anyway. The dusty smell always greets him like a hug when he opens the door.

Junhui shows up three days after their rendezvous at the café. When Jihoon hears the knock on the door, he knows he should be surprised, but he can’t deny that he isn’t. He sets his tools down on the table, dusts his hands off on his apron, adjusts his glasses on his nose. Junhui’s name is already on his mind before he opens the door. When he puts his hand to the knob and twists, he’s so focused on knowing it’s Junhui that he forgets not to look at him.

Only for a second, he gets a flash of Junhui’s full face. In the instant they’re looking at each other, he sees Junhui’s eyes go a little wide, and it reminds him that this is wrong. Jihoon fixes his gaze back on the floor and presses his mouth into a line. It’s just as he’s heard. Junhui is very handsome. “Fuck.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Huh?”

“It was only for a second,” Junhui says, and Jihoon realizes he forgot the reason he’s been looking away is to avoid Junhui’s magic. “Nothing will happen to you.”

“Whatever you say.” Jihoon turns and walks back to where he’d been working, heaves himself up on to the stool. “Close the door.” Tools back in hand, he listens to the sound of the door shutting and the footsteps that follow.

For a while, he works in silence, eyes focused on the work in front of him. Every now and then, he stands to fetch something from one of the many drawers built into the opposite wall, but mostly he sits, tinkering with the mold on his worktable. It’s been a little longer than he thought since he last made something, and it’s difficult getting back into the old routine. The sound of Junhui walking around the studio doesn’t make it any easier.

“How long have you been using this studio?” Junhui asks suddenly. Jihoon’s arm jolts, nearly rupturing the metal inlay he’s trying to shape.

“I don’t know,” he says, rolling his shoulders, his neck. “A long time.”

“I can see that.” Then you shouldn’t have asked, Jihoon narrowly stops himself from saying. “It’s nice in here.” Almost like a sneeze, Jihoon laughs once.

“Very few would agree with you on that.”

“Would you?”

Jihoon’s hands pause a moment. He feels stiffness creak through his knuckles and rolls his shoulders back again. “What do you think?” he asks, resuming work. Past the window, he can hear a bird pecking into the trunk of a tree. “I choose to do my work here.”

“I guess you do,” Junhui says, breath heavy. He walks another lap around the studio, then sits on the second stool Jihoon keeps on the opposite side of the table for days he feels like a change of scenery. Jihoon hears the scrape of the feet across the concrete floor.

It’s always been silent in the studio, ever since he started working here. Even when there are birds or animals outside, he doesn’t usually notice. The windows block out enough of the sound for him to keep focused. Back in the early days, he tried to play music, but something about it felt too out of place in this gray little studio, loud and colorful and awkward rattling through his shelves of essences and drawers of mismatched material bases. The quiet has become a nice solace for him. Every time Junhui breathes, he interrupts that sense of peace.

“Did you just come to watch me work?” Jihoon asks after a while. The light coming in from outside is starting to slant. He’ll head home soon. “Afraid I’ll screw up?”

“I wouldn’t know if you did,” Junhui says. “I just think it’s interesting.”

“Interesting?” Jihoon hums. “It’s not.”

“It is.” The sound of Junhui’s palms creeping onto the tabletop reaches Jihoon’s ears, and he glances up for just long enough to see Junhui lean closer. “I think you do amazing work.”

“Oh, sure,” Jihoon huffs, “making things.” He lowers his eyebrows. “Surely nowhere near as nice as having powerful magic that takes care of things for you.” Junhui chuckles, voice thin.

“I can tell you hate me.”

“Well, I’ve been making it clear.”

Somehow, Junhui laughs again. He sounds exhausted. “I guess you have,” he says. The stool he sits on creaks beneath his weight. “But don’t you think it sounds nice?”

“What sounds nice?”

“Having someone fall in love with you.”

Jihoon’s hands pause. Suddenly, the red creeping in from beyond the window is so much easier to see, orange hues dancing across his knuckles. He opens the small cabinet on the underside of his table and pulls out a small box, gingerly places what he’s done so far into it and returns it to the cabinet. Without speaking, he slides all his tools back into their pockets on the belt lain across the table, then removes his apron and folds it into a square.

“Are you leaving?” Junhui asks.

“We’re both leaving,” Jihoon says. He takes off his glasses and tucks them into their case. In his periphery, he sees Junhui’s legs dangling in front of the stool. “Get up.” He watches two shoes hit the floor, then turns his back and strides to the door.

Junhui hovers behind him while he locks up, close enough to be oppressive, though all that touches Jihoon is his shadow’s stretching frame. All around them, the land seems too quiet, or maybe it’s that Jihoon’s ears have been numbed by the air pressure in his studio. He looks up to the sky and sees a wisp of moon glimmering faintly at the edge of the red-purple sky. Not a cloud in sight.

“Don’t follow me,” Jihoon says, stepping off down the hill.

“I won’t,” Junhui says, but he does anyway, matching stride with Jihoon on the cobbled bath leading to the hill’s base. Usually, Jihoon enjoys this view, but right now, it’s irritating him. “This is a great view.”

“Yep.”

“By the way.” Junhui kicks a rock, and it flies out far in front of them, clatters down the hill without stopping. “Those glasses really suit you.”

Jihoon sighs. “What’s your game here?”

“No game.”

“Bullshit.” Jihoon kicks a rock this time, much more purposefully. He watches it until it burns up in the glow of the setting sun. “I’m not doing anything but making this goddamn charm, you hear?”

“I know that,” Junhui says. “I just wanted to say—”

“Keep it to yourself next time.” It must be rage that’s making Jihoon’s face color right now. He refuses to let it be embarrassment.

“Okay.” They walk further, slope gradually leveling out beneath their feet. In the distance, streetlights flicker on one by one. The sounds of nighttime animals waking up begin to rise from the brush around them. As they near the base of the hill, Junhui says, “You never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“Whether you think it sounds nice to have someone fall in love with you.”

Jihoon stops, and Junhui stops beside him. At the base of the hill, the stone path collects into something more refined, polished footpaths that melt into the city seamlessly. Jihoon stares at them for a second, then turns. He takes in one more second of Junhui’s face, barely visible in the low light, then averts his gaze and starts down the path toward home.

“I think it sounds awful.”

 

A few days later, Junhui appears again. This time, Jihoon doesn’t permit himself the same mistakes he had before, instead locking eyes no higher than Junhui’s waist. There’s a strange box in his hands. When he tries to step inside, Jihoon stops him by pressing both palms against it.

“What the hell are you trying to bring into my studio?” he asks.

“It’s food,” Junhui says. “In case you’re hungry.” Jihoon frowns.

“As if you would know what I like,” he says, but turns anyway and lets Junhui follow him inside. He listens for the sound of the door closing as he resumes his seat at the tableside.

“There’s plenty. You’ll have to like something.”

Jihoon doesn’t have to like anything, but he decides not to say that and chooses instead to concentrate on his work on the charm. It’s coming along pretty well, if Jihoon does say so himself. He’s got the inlay almost completely molded, and after this is only the filling, the infusion of the essence, and the setting. He might even get done a little early.

“You’re fast,” Junhui remarks, opening a small container of whatever he brought and setting it on the table. The scent of it floods the room. Jihoon’s nose scrunches.

“I’m not,” he says. “This is normal.” He pushes his tools to the side, careful not to disrupt any of the careful work he’s put into crafting the inlay. “Don’t make a mess over there.”

“It’s not normal,” Junhui says, pushing another container into Jihoon’s reach. Jihoon cracks the lid, and the smell gets three times stronger. “You really are in a different league.”

“Save the flattery,” Jihoon coughs. He breathes in again, tries to get his nose used to the smell. The longer he spends breathing it, the more he thinks it smells good. “I’m just doing my job.”

“But I think it’s great,” Junhui says, “to do what you do.” A spoon clatters to Jihoon’s side. “You help people.”

After blowing on his food a few times, Jihoon grabs the spoon and digs into it. He has a hard time describing the taste, but he can’t get himself to stop eating it. It’s half spicy, a little sweet, some sort of stew or something he’s never had before. It’s a little better with each spoonful. Halfway through the container, he realizes how silent it’s been for the past little while. He must have been hungrier than he thought. For a second, his spoon hovers above the rim, and his eyes shift to the other side of the table, where he sees Junhui’s hands similarly busy. Junhui coughs.

“Did you want to say something?” he asks.

Jihoon frowns. He’s stubborn enough to ignore it and go back to eating, he knows, but he sets down his spoon anyway. “What is this?” he asks. He watches Junhui set his spoon down and fold his hands. His pinkies crook sharply after the second joint.

“Special stew,” Junhui says, shifting his elbows forward. “An old family recipe.”

“You made this?”

“Yeah.” His thumbs tap against each other, fingers tense up briefly. “How is it?”

“It’s good,” Jihoon says. Now he risks looking a little further up, until he can see Junhui’s neck, the tip of his chin. “Is it poisoned?”

Surprise rolls through Junhui’s frame, starting at the head. It shakes down his neck, through his shoulders, jitters through his wrists and pulls his hands apart. “Of course not,” Junhui says, tone high. “You think I would do that?” His chest heaves with each breath, filling and deflating without rhythm.

“I don’t know what you would do,” Jihoon says. He fastens the lid of the container back on and pushes it across the table. When he hears Junhui sigh, he’s already looking away, attention returned to his interrupted task. He plucks one of his tools from its spot in the belt. “But I guess you’d never get your charm if you killed me.”

“I’ve never killed anyone,” Junhui says. His tone is sharp, makes Jihoon feel a little uneasy. “No matter what you think of me. I’ve never killed someone.”

“Let me ask you, then,” Jihoon says. He flicks his eyes up to meet Junhui’s for one burning second, wonders how many chances he has left to play that risky game before Junhui’s magic seizes him. “Do you think it’s better to ruin someone completely?” Eyes off Junhui again, he waits through a few seconds. “Don’t you think it’s just as bad?”

“Maybe,” Junhui says after a while. “It might be.” The sound of his breath dusts over every corner of the studio, sinks into the gaps between the shelves. “It’s not that simple.”

“How isn’t it?” Jihoon grunts. He wasn’t paying attention; the curve of the metal is too deep now. He sets down one tool to pick up another, reverse the damage he’s just done. How obnoxious.

“It just isn’t,” Junhui says. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“Then how does it work?”

“When they look at me, they fall in love,” Junhui says, as if Jihoon didn’t already know that. “At first, it’s nice.” There’s a muted bang, the quiet slam of a fist into wood. The ticking sound of fingernails tapping against a tabletop. “I don’t control as much as you think I do.”

“But you control enough.” Jihoon cracks his knuckles and blinks a few times. It’s getting harder to focus on the task at hand. The light slanting in through the windows is dimmer than before. “To get them to do whatever you want.” He clears his throat and pushes his glasses further up on his nose. “That’s how you found me, yeah?”

For a long few minutes, quiet wraps around them. Absorbed in working, Jihoon almost forgets that he asked a question, almost forgets that Junhui is still there. The sound of his stool scooting stings Jihoon’s ears. “Don’t pretend you want to understand,” he says, “when all you want is to remind me what I’ve done.” Jihoon can’t place the scuffling sound, but he refuses to look up. “I can remember everything just fine.”

A trail of soft footfalls, the opening and closing of a door, the creak of wind against a window. Jihoon busies his hands again, but he can’t shake the vague headache beginning to gather at the back of his skull. As if he’s the one who’s said something wrong here. All he did was ask. When he looks up, he sees Junhui left all the food he brought behind, napkins folded neatly on top of a stack of unopened parcels.

 

He gets a lot of work done when Junhui doesn’t appear to bother him. In the next four days, he finishes the inlay and starts setting the charm and infusing the ability. It takes him a while to find the right materials, but he knows he has everything somewhere in this room, and eventually, he digs everything up. All he needs now is Junhui to tell him the final details; Jihoon still doesn’t know what the charm will be used for, where it will go. It’s irritating not to know.

There’s a knock on the door right as he sets the charm down to take a break, and his shoulders tense up on instinct. He knew Junhui would have to come back, yet at the same time, he hadn’t expected him to. His eyes stay low when he opens the door, and he turns to go back to his stool without offering a greeting. A break sounded nice, but now if he does nothing, it’s just him and Junhui in the room, and the thought is suffocating. He picks his work back up with cramped fingers, listens to the sound of Junhui walking in and closing the door and sitting down. When Junhui still doesn’t say anything after a while, Jihoon clears his throat.

“What is the charm for?” he asks. He hears Junhui inhale.

“Does that matter?”

“It does,” Jihoon shoots back. “For finishing it. I need to know so I can prepare the setting.”

Junhui huffs. “I don’t care. Whatever’s easiest.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what it’s for, so I don’t know what’s easiest.”

“It’s for me,” Junhui says, with a groan. “To wear.”

“For you?” Jihoon’s jaw hangs a little low.

“To cancel my magic out,” Junhui clarifies. “That’s what it’s for.”

Jihoon hums. Maybe that should have been obvious. Had Junhui been making it obvious? Jihoon can’t recall. He’s been very busy not looking at him, very busy hating him, making sure he didn’t get involved with Junhui any deeper than this one single charm. Of course, he knew the charm would be used, but it somehow escaped his consideration that Junhui might use it, that he might want to cancel his own magic out. Or that it could be cancelled, that it wasn’t something he could just stop himself.

“So you’re saying,” he begins, throat dry, “that you don’t control it?”

“I don’t control anything,” Junhui says. It’s very tempting to look his way. “It was given to me, and I can’t give it back.”

“Given to you?” Jihoon’s hands are dying for something to keep them busy, but he can’t figure out what to do with them, resigns to clutching his tools tight as death. “How?”

“I asked for it.”

 A hush blankets the two of them, numbs the far-off sounds of birds rustling in trees outside. There’s a sort of draft seeping in under the door, like the wind is tired of being kept outside, begging to burst in and wrap them up. He asked for it. Jihoon doesn’t know what that means. Since he’s never used magic, only transferred its properties into charms, he doesn’t get it. Maybe it isn’t for him to get. Something feels off in his stomach, like he’s freefalling into a field without any restraints to hold him aloft. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he speaks.

“You asked for it,” he says at last. Even though it’s his own voice, he can’t place the tone.

“I didn’t know,” Junhui says. “I was stupid. Don’t you think…” Jihoon hears him gulp. “Is it evil to want to be loved?” His voice breaks, just slightly, and Jihoon snaps up to look at him. This time, instead of Jihoon averting his eyes, Junhui covers his own with one hand, pressing close to his forehead. “I didn’t know it would be like that. I didn’t know the way it would affect them. I just wanted…” He presses his lips close together, and small dimples appear on either side of his mouth.

“I just asked an old warlock for it,” he continues. “I don’t know where he went, so I have to get the charm.”

The center of Jihoon’s chest has grown dangerously soft, painfully sore. “Where did you hear about me?” he asks.

“Someone I met years ago,” Junhui says. He risks a peek through his fingers, covers his eyes again when he sees Jihoon still looking at him. “He talked about a friend of his who made the best charms. I traced you from there. Is this important?”

Jihoon’s face hardens. “And what did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Junhui says. “The magic did what it always does.”

“How did he snap out of it?”

“The same way as everyone,” Junhui mutters. “I run away, and they eventually get over it. I don’t know exactly how it happens.”

“He wasn’t the same after that, you know,” Jihoon says. He doesn’t know why. He sees the way Junhui curls in on himself, but he doesn’t stop talking. “That ruined him. He couldn’t get his thoughts toge—”

“Enough,” Junhui says. “I know already.” He drops his hand now, stares back hard. “What do you want me to say?”

In his surprise, Jihoon only stares back. His brain screams at him to look away, but he doesn’t want to. There’s something captivating about Junhui’s features now that he’s looking at them in full, actually trying to see. The way they catch the light is bizarre. His eyes hold on to colors they couldn’t possibly possess, and Jihoon senses that he’s by the edge of some cliff, toeing ever closer to the drop.

“Look away!” Junhui shouts, and Jihoon does in an instant, neck snapping straight down. His breathing comes quick and shallow.

“How long do I have,” Jihoon begins, mouth dry, “before I fall in love with you?”

“I don’t know,” Junhui says. “I’ve never known. Just don’t look at me again.”

“Okay,” Jihoon says. “Okay.”

It’s soundless except for the tinkering noise of tools when he goes back to work. Minutes go by, and none of the tension in the air evaporates. It sits heavy on his shoulders like an iron scarf, and he has a tough time getting himself to clear his thoughts enough to focus on it. He ends up toying with the same exact piece over and over, hoping it’ll finish itself. A thought bubbles up in his mind.

“If you’re going to keep it on you all the time,” Jihoon muses, “maybe it would be best to have it as a necklace.

“Alright.” He can hear Junhui’s smile. “Then I’ll have it as a necklace.”

 

In two more days, Jihoon has it finished. He sits at the studio, charm in hand, silver chain dangling from the hook set at its end, and waits for Junhui to show up. For a while, he wonders whether he’ll come today at all, but there’s a feeling in Jihoon’s gut that says he has to. All the clouds in the sky are relying on it, all the boards in the walls. He grasps the charm like he’s afraid it’ll slip through his fingers, shape of it burning red into his palm. Junhui will come today. He knows it.

By the time there’s a knock on the door, Jihoon is dozing. The sound startles him to his feet, and he rushes to the door with his head still fuzzy. Once he opens the door, he remembers Junhui is what he’s been waiting on. The clouds between his ears clear slowly, and he keeps his hold firm on the necklace in his hand. His eyes stay glued straight ahead, to Junhui’s chest.

“You’re here.”

“I am,” Junhui says. He shifts his weight between feet, moves his arms around. “Is it done?” Suddenly his hand is enveloping Jihoon’s, toying with the hanging chain. “Is this it?” His palm is burning hot.

Jihoon jerks his hand away and takes a step back, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Yes.” He hears Junhui cough and shuffle in past the doorway.

“Right,” Junhui says. “The price.” Of course. He should pay first. That’s right. Of course. “What do I owe you?”

“I said… what did I say?”

“Double the normal rate,” Junhui tells him.

“Right. Double. So that’ll be… twenty thousand.” That’s not even close to double. Jihoon doesn’t know why the double rate seems too high to say, like the number will stick in his throat halfway.

“Are you sure?” Junhui asks. “That sounds low.”

“What would you know about it?” Jihoon snaps. “Twenty thousand.”

“Fine.”

The air is awkward as Junhui leafs out the bills, and Jihoon knows it’s his fault, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. His back is stiff, shoulders tense, body wound tight and waiting to snap. There’s something different about Junhui today, or maybe it’s Jihoon who’s different. Or maybe it’s this room, or everything. He doesn’t like it at all. Feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Here you go,” Junhui says, folding the bills into Jihoon’s hand. He plucks the charm from Jihoon’s grip and holds it in the air a moment, swinging back and forth.

Jihoon watches the shadow swirl on the floor then still, disappear as Junhui puts the necklace on. Breath held, he waits for something to happen, but there’s nothing. He knows nothing happens, but this feels a little different than the usual business, somehow worth more than the average cancellation or enhancement charm. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t usually waste so much time with the handoff. He’s always been more keen on sending a package than hand delivery.

“How is it?” Since he’s not a user of magic himself, he doesn’t know whether the charms feel like anything. He’s never thought to ask.

Without warning, Junhui’s hand is cupped under Jihoon’s chin, pushing his face up until their eyes meet. Again, Jihoon finds himself surprised by the way Junhui’s eyes drip colors they shouldn’t, shining a full spectrum of shades he’s never thought he’d find in a pair of eyes. Like a drop of ink spreading through fabric, his focus widens to encompass more of Junhui’s face, featured he’s been forcing himself not to see. Lips, nose, bread crumb trails of tiny moles leading up and out and everywhere. Jihoon can’t stand beautiful people.

“What do you think?” Junhui says. The warmth of his hand under Jihoon’s chin is suffocating out of nowhere, but Jihoon doesn’t swat it away. He just keeps staring.

“About what?” he asks, numb. Junhui’s eyes crinkle a certain way when he smiles.

“Are you in love with me?”

The breath in Jihoon’s chest thins, and his tongue is too dry to answer. The draft under the door is stirring the air in here in ridiculous ways, bending everything out of shape and making his knees feel wobbly. How confusing. He never should have taken this request. He never should have gone to the bar. He absolutely can’t stand beautiful people.

“Maybe,” he says. Junhui raises his eyebrows.

“But the charm,” he says, gripping it with his free hand. “If you can even say maybe, that means it’s working.” His breath touches light on the apples of Jihoon’s cheeks. They’re closer than he realized until just now, almost close enough to kiss. “So that means no.”

“I don’t know what it means,” Jihoon said. “I’m just answering you.”

Junhui keeps looking at him for a while, keeps holding him by the chin, and Jihoon knows he should feel a little more stiff, more cautious, but he doesn’t. And he can’t figure out why. The air in the studio is too warm, but he can’t reach the windows to crack them open. He can’t move at all. In front of him, Junhui stays still a long time, wordless, watching Jihoon’s eyes like he’s waiting for them to see something, only Jihoon doesn’t know what it is. Eventually, he drops his hand from Jihoon’s chin, but Jihoon keeps looking up at him.

“I want to take you to dinner,” Junhui says, eyes twinkling, careful.

“You can’t,” Jihoon tells him. He sees a change in Junhui’s shoulders, in his legs, everything. It’s amazing how much more you see when you can finally look. “But you can make me dinner.”

“Make it?”

“That stew.” He watches the light flick around Junhui’s irises, the rise of his shoulders, the breath in his chest. The red-orange hue of the charm gleams against the center of Junhui’s chest, brilliant and inescapable. Jihoon thinks it might have been useless. “I’d like to taste it again.”

**Author's Note:**

> sup everybody LMAO teasing in within the last hour and a half of jun day in my time zone to give him this fic because i love my king and for him to be adored. it has been sooooo long and i know this shit sucks but i'm trying to remember how to write and get back into it so please just try to bear with me here. i hope everybody had a fantastic jun day because as we all know this is the best day all year and i hope everybody gave jun his much-deserved boatloads of love and will continue to do so indefinitely. sorry i took such a long break from writing (secretly you were relieved you can say it) but hopefully i can get a few more things out this year. shit's been weird. anyway thanks so much for reading!!! prob should've said that first lol but what can i say.... i'm out of practice


End file.
